Hemlock
by ForgottenDreamsSS
Summary: Eighteen year old Meadowlark Halloway from District 12 is reaped for the 68th annual Hunger Games. Not wanting to be the fourth tragic death of her family, she must grow to survive for the deadliest games of all. Eventual Haymitch/OC.
1. Chapter 1: Fairness

Meadowlark's chin rested on her knee that she had pulled up to her chest while she sat in her bed, her bright grey eyes struggling to stay open as the morning light peeked above the window. Lark's mind was still struggling to wrap around the fact that this particular day was her last year to be reaped for the 68th annual Hunger Games, and the reaping was today. She let out a shaking sigh, pressing her cheek against the fabric of her pants. Lark _knew _the odds were against her; she had put her name in four times for tessera, accounting for each of her siblings, and that made her shake in fear. But each year she felt the same, she told herself in a desperate try of comfort. _But I had never been reaped all those years, so why would this year be any different?_

She was quickly distracted from her thoughts as she heard a shrill shriek from the bordering room. She jumped out of seat before groaning, rubbing her brow. She began to quickly walk towards the room before bumping into her smaller sister, Laurel. She was shivering as if she had seen a ghost, the expression on her face making her look terrified. Lark sympathetically smiled at her as Laurel gripped onto her arm, burying her face into side.

"Hey Laurel," Lark said softly, resting back into the kitchen chair while Laurel rubbed her eyes, faintly red from tears. "What was it this time?"

The youthful Laurel shrugged her shoulders.

"It was the last year's games," she admitted, her honey-sweet voice quaking as she spoke, "I'm just so scared, Lark, what if I get picked? What if _you_ get picked, or Remus?" Her round face had fallen into a distraught expression.

Lark lifted her hand and brushed away some of the strawberry blonde hair from her face that fell into curly tresses. She reached out and hugged her younger sibling, kissing her on the forehead.

"Don't _worry_, Laurel. You worry too much, y'know that?" Lark said quietly to not disturb the other siblings, a breathless laugh escaping from her lips. Laurel's freckled face brightened a bit at her sister's happiness and confidence, as if she could make it all disappear.

"I know, I know; you're always telling me that," Laurel said, playing the fabric of shirt in between her fingers.

"And that's because it's true."

"I'm just saying there's a chance you could get reaped!" Laurel cried out, the color from her cheeks flushing. Lark ran her hand through her hair, groaning.

"The chance is very, _very_ unlikely," she argued irritably, raising her voice.

Their heads turned at the sound of a door creaking as two boys came out- one, Remus around the age fifteen, the other, Coto no younger than ten.

"G'morning, Lark," Remus said awkwardly, stretching out his hands and cracking his knuckles, while Coto watched from a distance timidly.

"Good morning, boys," Lark said as she roused from her seat, flinching as Remus lazily bumped his shoulder against her. She headed to the cabinets to check the food, reaching for the nearest loaf of bread. She handed it to Remus, glancing him in the eyes. He looked so much different than her, she had noticed. While she had white blonde hair with platinum streaks, and a lean body, he was the opposite. He had dark, dark hair with honey brown tips, and a muscled body from working for the neighbors all the time. There were times when he was mistaken as a friend rather than a sibling. She shook her head and gave him a knife.

"Cut it into fourths," she said. "Give the biggest piece to Laurel, alright? It's her first reaping." Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Lark quickly shot him an exasperated glare.

After eating breakfast in silence, Remus broke the ice.

"Don't you have to go talk to Mrs. Hawthorne? I mean, that's what you said yesterday," he mumbled.

She looked up at him, nodding slowly. "It's just to talk over arrangements," she said, nervously sweeping away some of the stray hairs that had fallen in front of her face.

Laurel looked away from Lark while Remus offered a subtle smile.

"You'll be fine, Lark," he said. "Really, you don't have to bother talking to her; it's not like you'll get picked anyway. Right?"

The corners of her lips twitched upwards as she pulled at the sleeves of her shirt. "I know, I know. But you can never be too safe. Besides, it's just in case. I know I'm not going to get picked." _I can't get picked._ She stood up and pushed her chair in, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I'm going to head out then, alright?"

Coto nodded and Remus leaned back in his chair, a tired yawn escaping from his mouth.

"I'll hold the fort down," he joked.

"Yes, and I expect to see it in nice shape when I get back; I'll be praying you don't burn it down," Lark announced while pulling her jacket on. She quickly headed out the door, a bit in a haze as she ran over her thoughts.

* * *

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" Lark called out quietly, knocking at her door. Not a second later, the lovely woman had opened the door, managing a smile despite the obvious fact she was fatigued and drained of energy.

"Come in, it's fine," Hazelle Hawthorne crooned, one hand on the wall as if she were trying to keep herself from tipping over. She closed the door after Lark entered, trying to ignore the chatter from Gale and Rory's room. "How are you doing? Taking care of your siblings and all, by your lonesome."

Lark hesitated while leaning back against the counter. "It's alright. _I'm _alright, really. Remus helps out more than he needs to, but Coto is pretty awful some of the days," she said solemnly. Earlier that year, her brother had died in a mining accident. It was nothing major, but… It was tragic, seeing as he had taken care of his family since their father and mother had died early.

"Oh." It fell silent in the house, other than the bickering between the two oldest brothers in the background.

Hazelle cleared her throat, hugging herself slightly. "So what was it you needed to discuss?"

"My siblings," Lark said faintly, taking a seat in the kitchen table. "Just in case I'm reaped for the games."

She gulped, her voice sounding a bit more broken than before. "I put my name in there several times, Mrs. Hawthorne. I don't try to worry them, my siblings, but there's a good chance I could be reaped." Her sentence incoherently faded away, her fingers twitching as she tried to send out the haunting thoughts inside of her head, flustered. "I know I shouldn't worry, but I just _do_. The Hunger Games frighten me as much as anyone else, and if I am reaped, where will they go? I'm more worried about them than me."

She looked into Mrs. Hawthorne's bright silver eyes, seeing the motherly gaze. "I need to know someone will take care of them if I'm reaped."

"Sweet girl, you'll be fine," Mrs. Hawthorne said quickly and sternly, as if it was a sin to even think of that situation, reaching down and hugging her tightly. Lark reciprocated the favor, her hold lingering for a second more. "And your siblings will be fine with me. I ought to have enough room." Hazelle's voice seemed a bit unsure, but she knew she couldn't show that in front of Lark.

Lark's rouged cheeks seem to brighten from the miraculous news. "Thank you, Hazelle, you're a life saver," she chirped, brushing away some of her blonde hair. The sober gaze in her grey eyes had disappeared, like snow during the day of a warming spring, like hope in the bleak moments of a war.

"Lark?" The two women turned their heads to see Gale at the door, Rory at his heels and whining and arguing with him while Gale shushed him.

"Hello, Gale," Lark said, taking in the sight of the boy. It was hard to believe he was twelve, and soon to be thirteen a month after the reaping. He already looked several years older than he should have been, Lark noted. "How are you? It's your first reaping, right?"

Gale looked to his mother for approval, and curtly nodded. "Yeah, it's my first," he mumbled, a bit shy.

"You'll be fine. No one gets picked for their first year." Gale just stared at her, knowing there was enough proof of past tributes to argue otherwise.

"Gale, go back inside. If you need to talk to your father, you can wait," Hazelle urged quietly.

"But mom, Rory's-"

"Please, Gale!" she snapped harshly while the two brothers jumped back in surprise, shutting the door quickly.

Hazelle chuckled drowsily, rubbing her forehead.

"Boys are always so much trouble," Lark said jocularly, standing up from her seat at the chair.

"They are indeed."

Lark glimpsed at the clock on the wall, squinting to see the time.

"I should probably be going," she said urgently, smiling at Hazelle. Her hand brushed along the older widow's' arm, holding it for a second. "Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne. I really do mean it."

"It isn't a problem," Hazelle said, pulling Lark into a tight hug. She released the embrace, and let Lark leave out the door.

* * *

Lark folded over the collar of her pale grey dress, glancing over the side of her shoulder to see Laurel struggling with her hair on the bed.

"Do you want me to braid it?" she asked, taking a seat beside her.

"If that's okay," Laurel said shyly, smoothing out her pleated blue skirt.

"Of course it's okay," Lark sighed, a grin breaking out on her face. "I was the one who asked you if you wanted it anyways."

"Do you think it could be like yours?" Laurel asked, admiring the simple French braid on the back of her head.

"Sure. It'll be shorter than mine though."

After Lark had finished weaving the strands of hair together, she pulled a blue ribbon from the table at the side of her bed. She quickly knotted it at the end of her hair, while pulling the stray golden locks behind Laurel's ears. "It looks gorgeous on you."

A gleaming smile popped up on Laurel's face as she turned around, reaching back and touching it.

"If you keep doing that, you'll mess it up," Lark warned, heading towards the door. "Remus, are you ready yet?"

The teen stumbled out of the door with Coto clinging to his leg as he desperately tried to shake him off.

"Yeah, almost," he groaned as he pulled up the sleeves on his shirt to his elbows. "Lark, can you get him _off _of me?"

"C'mon, baby brother," Lark said, pulling his hands off of the older brother's leg, startled when Coto pushed her away from him.

"Why can't you just stay home this year!" he cried out, directing the comment to Remus. He pulled himself away, trembling.

"It's necessary," Remus snapped, crossing his arms in discontent.

"Why don't we run away then?" Coto offered, the innocence in his statement so clear.

"Don't say that, Coto!" Remus said, and the sharpness in his tone immediately made the little boy fall silent. Lark glanced over to the doorway of her room to see Laurel with her jaw slightly agape before uttering, "Let's… Let's just go, alright?"

* * *

"Why don't you go stand near Gale?" Laurel was already distressed about the simplest things, like where to stand, what to do; Lark was just shaking her head while Laurel poured out her fears of the Reaping to her.

"We're not good friends, Lark!" Laurel said, frowning while she shifted sides nervously.

"What about Dahlia?" Lark asked, looking over the rows of thirteen year olds to the twelve year olds.

"Do you see her?" Laurel said, blinking her wide eyes while turning to look in the direction her older sister was seeing over.

"She's the one with all the curls, right?" Lark didn't even get a chance to say goodbye before Laurel was running off to her friend. She shook her head as she walked over to the section where the oldest would go.

"Hello, Meadowlark." She turned her head to see her olive skinned, short-haired friend named Maya smirking, her hand on her hips. "I was starting to think you were going to skip!"

"Me?" Lark said teasingly, taking a spot next to her. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

After a half hour, the town had fallen silent as they saw the Mayor rise from his seat to the microphone, repeating the history of Panem and the Hunger Games, while a screening was played above him, the tapes of what they had from the war. He dismissed himself, and a bright haired, pale skinned woman took the stage in outrageous clothes, the faintest smile on her unnaturally colored lips. Lark knew her face well; Cassia Sparse, the escort for District 12.

She held the microphone close to her face which had a faux grin.

"Welcome to the 68th annual Hunger Games!" she said a bit too cheerfully for the event that was about to take place. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

She surveyed the crowd before speaking again, "There are to be two tributes in each reaping; one female and one male."

"That makes it sound much less personal," Maya whispered in a quiet voice to Lark. The blonde haired girl did not respond, she just simply watched as Cassia walked over to the bowl with the female's names in them.

"Ladies first, I suppose," she mused to herself as she reached into the bowl, her slender fingers picking out a single white slip of paper. She cleared her throat and unfolded the paper, opening her mouth to speak the name.

"Meadowlark Halloway!"

After a moment, she noticed no one was heading up. Why? She glanced at Maya to see her horrified, and then realization struck.

_That's my name. _She could feel the eyes of several people on her as she began to head up towards the podium.

She didn't feel afraid. She felt in shock, like something was knotting up inside of her, holding back the feelings.

"How old are you?" Lark's head turned and she stared at Cassia for a moment in confusion, before shaking her head.

"I'm eighteen," she said hoarsely, her throat suddenly dry. She stared out into the crowd, seeing Coto clinging to Mrs. Hawthorne's hip. Remus looked as if he was in some terrible rage, and was about to burst. She couldn't bring herself to look at Laurel. _I told her I would be safe. _

"Time for the male tribute!" she could hear Cassia say. After a delayed moment, she listened for the male tribute.

"Calden Larsen!" Lark turned to look at him. He was a skinny boy, who did not look older Remus. He had olive skin and black hair with cowlicks, and olive eyes. She had seen him before, around the Hob. He always looked as if he had hated the world, but now? He had a reason to.

"How old are you?" Cassia questioned as he entered the stage.

"Fifteen," he replied very quietly, dragging the nail of his fingers against his thumb to take stress away. _He's no older than Remus. That _could _have been Remus._

"These are our tributes, ladies and gentlemen!" Cassia called out, motioning for Calden and Lark to shake hands. Lark stepped forward, holding Calden's hand tightly while she tried to convey how she felt with solely her expression.

_I'm sorry_, she wanted to tell him. _This is so unfair._

But the Games were always unfair.

* * *

**I'll be submitting my Walking Dead fanfic soon, but I felt like submitting this first. The appearances are mostly like the film's, but it stays more true to the books plot-wise. The Haymitch/OC romance will be slow developing mostly due to the age difference. Also, this is a bit AU? Not much though :)**


	2. Chapter 2: Ribbons and Rings

**Holy angel of the lord; thanks for all the reviews and favs and follows, guys! **

**Erik-Silver: Thanks! :D**

**Nadia Black: Aw, thank you! I'm glad you think the idea's good; I'm certainly not the first to use it, but I hope my portrayal will be nice.**

**FrankieFusciaxx: Thanks! Yeah, I have to agree. Haymitch seems like the type to be helpful while still being very detached unless he sees promise in something.**

**AuraRedWolf: Do not worry, I have not left the story. :) In fact, I present you a new chapter. ;D**

* * *

Lark sat in the waiting room, wiping away tears brimming at her eyelids. Her lungs felt heavy, like someone had tied an anchor to it and set them in the ocean. She sat alert as she heard the Peacekeepers open the doors, waiting for a visitor.

"Lark!" Laurel shrieked, rushing towards her and holding her tightly, choking on sobs. Remus's eyes looked red as if he had been crying, while he held the whimpering Coto.

"I'm sorry, Lau-"

"You said you weren't going to be reaped!" she argued vehemently, clutching onto Lark's arm with her nails.

"Damn it, Laurel! You think I have a choice on whether mine name's drawn out of there or not!" Lark altercated quickly. A weary sigh escaped her lips and she sat down in the chair, rubbing her thumb in gentle motions on Laurel's arm. "I'm sorry. Laurel, I really am."

"You'll try, right?" Remus asked, a questionable look on his face. "You have to, Lark."

"Of course I will," Lark said, pressing her lips against Laurel's forehead. "I swear, I didn't even think this was going to happen." Laurel let Lark free of her grasp, and reached behind herself to grab her hair, pulling away the ribbon in her braid.

"Take it," she said quietly, sniffling as she rubbed her hand against her eyes. Lark nodded and took the blue ribbon in her hand, motioning for Remus and Coto to come over with the tilt of her head. "Promise me you'll come back, that you won't die."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were emitted. She couldn't dare to make an empty promise to Laurel. Hiding her face from her siblings, she said in a hushed voice, "I can't."

"But you have to come back!" The youthful sister said, believing as though Lark could control her fate.

"I'll try, that's all I can promise. Mrs. Hawthorne will take care of you," she said. "And you'll be fine, okay?"

Coto nodded, biting the skin of his lip as Lark gathered the two in an embrace.

"Take care of them, Remus," she said quietly, trying to remove the frightened expression on her face.

"I know." He mustered up a smile; a very, very broken one at that. They left soon after, saying their goodbyes. Maya came in, hugging her and wishing her the best of luck. _Oh, do I need it._ Mrs. Hawthorne and Mr. Hawthorne entered not long after, comforting her and promising her that she would come back, and that her siblings would be safe.

Lark looked at the clock, wondering if the hour was over. Ten minutes left. Taking in a long breath, the wall of feelings broke. She held her head in her hands, long lamenting cries shaking from her body. It was all she could do.

* * *

As Calden and Lark were escorted to the train by the peacekeepers, there was a frenzy of cameramen and women around them, jovial faces and all. Calden acted like there was nothing else but the transportation in front of them as he stared ahead with his handsome stoic face. Lark paled as she saw the crowd, licking her chapped lips as the peacekeepers pushed her forward. Calden entered the train first, turning back around and offering his hand for Lark. A fleeting smile crossed his face as she grasped his hand, letting go as she stepped onto the stairs of the giant mobile engine. She pushed open the door to the inside of the train, and her mouth dropped. Calden pushed herself past her, and stood shocked as well.

"This is all for us?" she asked to no one in particular. There was an overabundance of foods and drinks that were rarely seen in the most expensive of homes, so much that it could feed several families in the district.

"I guess it's their way of apologizing for killing us," Calden growled, walking straight past her to the couch, slumping down.

"I don't think it would kill you to be a bit more positive," she snapped, walking over to one of the tables. She closed her hand around a bottle of alcohol, her eyes skimming the label.

"I didn't realize they were giving alcohol to the kids now." Her eyes shot up, leaning back a bit when she saw the mentor of District 12, Haymitch, standing near her with an empty glass of vodka in his hand as while as an amused smile. He took the bottle from her hand and twisted the cork off, grabbing a new glass and tipped out the contents of the bottle into it.

"I don't drink," she said quietly, bemused.

"Good. More for me, then." Lark's silver-eyed gaze met up with Calden, who frowned and shrugged.

"What good are you if you're going to be drunk all the time?" Calden said with malice in his words, disgusted by Haymitch's behavior. "You're here to help us, aren't you?"

"I don't think I'm going to help you two escape your inevitable death," Haymitch said, sitting in a lone chair while sipping on the alcohol.

"Thanks for the support." Calden's stoic face was now showing detest and hatred for the one that would be helping them survive, or so he thought.

"I don't think now's a good time to be getting in an argument," Lark said with a stern voice that a mother might use, while taking a seat near the young boy. She let her gaze wander around the room, avoiding eye contact with either of the two in the room, before looking at the necklace around Calden's neck. It was some sort of ring on a golden chain, which Lark could only assume was his mother's wedding ring. "So what happens now?"

"We'll be in the Capitol by the morning," Haymitch replied in his rough voice, putting his drink down on the table and leaning forward. "We'll be able to watch the rest of the reapings tonight then."

Lark knew the reapings differed in each district. The career districts, 1, 2, and 4, would often volunteer, since they had been training their whole life for these games. She simply could not wrap her mind around the idea of a child, barely an adult, sacrificing themselves simply because they thought they were ready. I could never do that willingly.

"Have you seen the other tributes yet?" Calden suspiciously asked Haymitch, his eyes narrowed into accusing slits. Lark watched the young Seam boy intently, her lips closed in an obscured frown.

"Nope."

"Are there any tips you can give us?" Lark piped, straightening her back in alertness.

"Stay alive. Be smart, resourceful. I can't tell you how many times I've seen kids die from forgetting basic necessities." Haymitch looked a bit off, as if he were rewatching each and every single Game he could remember, give or take the ones he had drunk himself through. He then looked at each of the tributes keenly. "First thing you should do is run once the timer stops; not too early though," he warned. "Too many kids get blown to bits by stepping off before it's time to start." He chuckled to himself, believing it to be funny while Calden and Lark wore abhorred expressions. Haymitch groaned and rubbed his temple. "No one from District 12's done anything stupid like that; they're usually smart enough to listen to my advice." He carried on giving out consultation, while Lark listened very closely.

* * *

"The recaps are on!"

Lark's fingers teased through her wet hair as she turned her head to the sound of Calden's voice, sighing. She grabbed the blue ribbon she had placed near the sink, and tied it on her wrist.

"Just wait a minute," she called back while brushing her blonde tresses behind her neck. As she reached the couch, the screenings for District 1 had begun. She sat beside Calden, leaning back against the couch while folding her arms over each other. Before the name of the tribute had even been uttered from the District 1 escort's lips, a young man roughly around the age of seventeen had thrust himself through the crowd, his hand raised proudly as he volunteered. He had a malicious smirk on his face with dark hair and bright blue eyes, and swaggered when he walked.

"Looks dangerous enough," Lark heard Haymitch mutter from the chair across from her.

"He looks dumb," Calden scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Sure he does, doesn't mean you shouldn't underestimate him," Haymitch scolded, raising a glass of alcohol to his mouth.

"Yeah, but arrogance could cost you your life in the arena," Lark said in defense of the boy. She had seen others die off from too much cockiness, believing to know it all, only to fail their group or themselves; often times, the group would turn on the leader. She kept her stare on the television while the female tribute had gone up. She was sixteen, though not volunteering, she had a smug and devious look on her face and she wore it very, very proudly. She declared her name to be Crystal Lucent, and it was easy to tell she had been training; she was not frail, but she looked strong and healthy.

Next was District 2. The girl had been reaped first; she was fifteen and if Lark could not tell any better, she looked frightened. She was petrified as she stood, and it took a few seconds to get her attention, and Lark did not even catch her name. Lark's breath stopped when she saw the male tribute raise his hand. If there was any personification of the word "threatening", it was him. His dark eyes skimmed the crowd as he stood up on the stage, glancing occasionally at the camera. His approach suddenly shifted as he went to shake hands with the girl, looking rather protective now.

"He looks alarming," she said blankly, watching the boy before they went to the Reapings of District 3.

"Keep an eye out for him," Haymitch advised, the same amount of distrust for the District 2 boy.

"Oh, trust me, I will." District 3 was nothing special- it was a sixteen year old girl and a thirteen year old boy, both very quiet and plain; too shy to speak up. Two cousins were reaped from District 4, the boy a year older than the girl. District 5, 6, and 7 went by quickly, and Lark did not pay much attention, since all of the tributes for them were very young- most were around twelve to fourteen, the outlier being a seventeen year old girl from district 6 who had begun to sob her eyes out the moment her name was called.

District 8 interested Calden, who suggested to perhaps make an alliance with them, which Lark and Haymitch both replied with, "We'll see." District 11 had caught Lark's eye, with an older girl and a very young boy; the girl was seventeen, dark doe eyes and dark chocolate skin with lovely curly black hair which was a contrast to Lark's looks completely. The boy was fifteen, and seemed worried, and he had every right to be. And then, district 12; their reapings. Lark did not even recognize herself on the screen, all she saw was some thin, awkward and witless girl who was paralyzed from her name being called out.

She held her face in her hands, her cheeks reddening. Avoiding looking upwards, she said in distress, "I look spineless."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Calden said, awkwardly putting his hand on Lark's shoulder.

"They'll think I'm easy prey, Calden."

Haymitch cleared his throat, his eyes fleeting over her for a second. "The kid might be right."

Lark raised her neck, staring at Haymitch in befuddlement.

"You could always pass yourself off as weak, show you're no threat. Others might want to protect you if you pass yourself off as sweet. Then -" he reenacted a quick, jabbing motion, "- stab 'em in the back."

"I couldn't do that," she said, eyes narrowed. "It's cruel." She could not process the idea of befriending others and getting close to them, only to twist that trust into protection and then dispose of them. A bitter laugh came from Haymitch before glancing at the screen once more.

"That's the first thing about these games," he said. "They'll beat all the kindness out of you, or you'll die with it."

* * *

Calden and Lark did not even bother going to bed for the first few hours after the reapings and dinner. They got to know each other, and her initial thoughts of Calden had subsided. He was not cold and hateful as she had assumed; he was just quiet and had been exposed to a cruel world from his birth.

His family was from a very poor upbringing, and though his mother and father were enamored with each other at first, their marriage quickly went downhill. His father had left them after an argument with his mother, taking both their rings, not bothering to wake the children up to say goodbye.

"She wouldn't stop crying," he said, frowning. "And nothing I did would make her happy. Wouldn't eat either, and she kept on telling herself she wouldn't until he had come back."

"That… I don't know what to say," Lark said with a very faint voice. She knew loss. She grimaced while thinking that Laurel, Remus, and Coto would have to experience it again. The fate of death was attracted to her family like a fly to a rotting corpse. But abandonment? Lark had proudly known since her birth that the Halloways would never abandon each other, they were family, and families stuck together.

"It's alright," Calden said, flashing her a smile. His eyes held a sadness within them as he told the entire story. After so many days of sadness, Calden could not take it. He spent days finding his father, telling him of the depression his mother went through. Begrudgingly, his father went back to the home. Though they had settled out the whole argument, there was constant tension in his family. Up to this day.

"They still were arguing even when they said goodbye." He reached around to the back of his neck, his rough fingers finger the clasp to the chain. He unhooked it and pulled it off, displaying the ring to Lark. "She gave me this, my mom. This ring is what made us so poor."

She carefully encased it in her hands, enraptured by the little ring with a diamond in it.

"It must've cost a fortune!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, focusing on the gleam of the stone.

"It did. So what did you get from your family, or friends?"

Her attention was brought back to the ribbon she had tied on her wrist, and she glanced at it and held it up to Calden.

"I gave it to my sister this morning," she explained. "I put it in her hair. She decided to give it back. There's not much else she could have given me anyways."

"How old is she?"

"Twelve. She looks kind of like me; darker blonde hair though, big eyes." She sighed, crossing one leg over the other. "She kept freaking out this morning. She thought she was going to be reaped."

"My brother kept acting like that too," Calden said, scratching his temple while grinning. He told the story while reminiscencing the memories, and left Lark with a smile on her face that quickly dissapeared. After she yawned, the two had quickly dismissed each other, heading towards their rooms.

Lark dropped on the bed, rubbing her tired eyes as she crawled under the covers. She needed sleep, she reminded herself drowsily. But as she tossed and turned, she felt as though there were butterflies dancing through her stomach. She kept running through scenarios in her head of arriving at the capitol, dreaming up the idea of it. And it was these thoughts that had lulled her to sleep.

* * *

**Slow developing indeed. :) **

**Haymitch and Lark'll begin to interact more next chapter, don't worry. I'm also in the process of writing other fanfics, and this (and another) are going to be my main focuses. I'm a procrastinator so I tend to, well, procrastinate a lot; therefore it might be sometime before they're updated. Don't worry, I'll tell you all if I ever abandon it.**

**Thanks all!**


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